


He's A Saint

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1335220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a wild child who happens to love his baby brother a whole lot. But Sammy isn't the only one who has Dean's attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's A Saint

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long this is gonna be or what's gonna happen. Just know the smut isn't gonna happen until they're at least 16 so have no worries there. c:  
> Have a Wincestiel whim.  
> ps. the chapters will be longer this is just to set the story :)  
> ((tags added as it's updated))

If there was one thing that everybody in this god forsaken town knew for sure, it was that Dean Winchester always hit the ground- palms biting into the concrete- running. Sprinting actually, and damn, that boy could run, his legs took him places where no one could reach him. Just the pavement underneath and people behind him. It took him away from his problems. Mainly away from punishment, with stolen car parts, big or small, in his arms and old man Bobby Singer hot on his trail yelling profanity like there was no tomorrow.

His father, if given the chance would disown him, and his brother, if given the chance, would cry.  
Dean frustrated Sam to no end. The younger wanted to pull the older’s dirty blonde hair out, strand by strand. It wasn’t Dean that bothered him though, just the aftermath that the whirlwind boy left behind wherever he went. 

John would storm up the stairs to Sam’s room, expecting Dean to take refuge there, but he never found him. He only found Sammy sitting crosslegged, book pressed between his knees and faced towards the window, the glowing light filtering through his shaggy muddy hair.

Dean Winchester was a painting of freckles and sun kissed skin, lean muscle and a grin that never faded. He didn’t care much for anything except his baby brother and trouble. Rules didn’t apply to him, it was like the boy thought he could just become James T. Kirk if he wished hard enough. 

Ellen Harvelle, the doesn’t-take-bull-shit bartender from down the street liked to tease John about Dean Winchester’s wild green eyes, liked to ask John if he was raised by wolves as she ran the tap and filled another glass. The women had her fair share of the rascals mischievous nature. He loved irritating her good faithful customers by pick pocketing their silverware as he slid past their tables. The poor woman was always kept on her toes.

John would reply with, “To hell if I know, woman.” and he’d take another sip of his beer with a sigh. “God help me if I have to deal with that son for another seven years of my life.”

Now Sam...Sam John Winchester could live with. He was mild mannered, a little bookish but not off the maps as far as children go. He wasn’t the dream kid, but he didn’t land his father a drive down to the county jail every few weeks. He smiled when it was appropriate, said please and thank you, and held doors open for the elderly neighbor when they went to the grocery store. 

Sam was almost charming, about as close as a Winchester could get at least, and as quiet as one could get, too. Sam mostly kept to his room, door closed despite the cruel summer heat, curled on his bed and reading one from the pile of books he’d borrowed from the local library. Sammy was an indoor child, except for on Saturdays.

Saturdays were Dean days. That’s what Sam called them. John never asked, and neither of them bothered to explain. It was one day out of the week when they didn’t seemingly ignore each other. 

They’d ride in the hot air, wind kissed hair in tangles framing Sam’s face, and Dean’s sticking up every which way. Singer’s Auto would always be on the long list of destinations and at some point Bobby’s scowl would contradict his shining eyes when the bells on the door rang and two rascals sauntered in. 

Saturdays were the days when Sam would realize just how much he truly loved his brother. 

Dean could almost say the same.

You see, there was this boy. He was all sharp angles and messy dark wisps and cornflower blue eyes. He was quiet for the most part, although he had his moments, and he hung around these other kids, all older than both Sam and Dean. Something about them was a little bit intimidating and a little bit alluring. They treated each other like one big foster family, and maybe they were, Dean had never thought to ask. One of them, Dean was pretty sure his name was Gabriel, teased the rest, another, Anna, was either all frowns or the biggest, prettiest smiles. 

Dean loved them. He loved watching them, from across the street, resting on a bench under an awning, out of reach from the harsh summer sun. Hand over his eyes as he squinted, watching. They walked, the boy hand in hand with Gabriel and Anna. He liked the way they talked to each other, and looked at each other. 

God, he wanted to know his name. But he didn’t want to ask, because he was sure he would blush and then everyone would know what a big fat crush he had on him. And he couldn’t ask his baby brother because he would be jealous. But he loved seeing Sam’s face when he was cross; all baby cheeks and glimmering hazel eyes , so he just might.


End file.
